Daydream
by Lina Trinch
Summary: He watched her over his glass of red. Kurt/Angela. Oneshot.


He watched her from over a glass of red. She was stressed. Hell, they all were. It wasn't like he could say that she was worse off than himself or Neil or Chucky- Actually, Chuck was the worst one off. But still, he watched her.

Maybe she could use some company tonight. It was a far-fetched dream of an idea, he knew, but many people have said that he was very good at taking the edge off. Even if she did want company, though, there was such a slim chance that she would- _could _pick him. But it was enough of a chance. Just enough of a sliver for him to not give up hope. Just enough that he could still let himself daydream.

"Goddammit, Kurt!"

His eyes snapped over to Chuck, almost afraid that he had missed a question or entire conversation, but Taggert just rubbed at his eyes and leaned over Kurt's kitchen island. "What the hell do we do now?"

Ah, always asking him for the miracle cure. Like the answer is just flying about his head, and he was too lazy to reach out and catch it. That's probably what Chuck really thought, actually. "What _can _we do, Chuck?" he sighed, setting down his glass, "If you want my honest opinion, I think we should relish the victory."

"_Victory?_" Chuck spat the word like he never heard it before. "And what victory did you happen to see today, smart guy? They're making nests now, for Pete's sake! And more than fifty of the bastards got away!"

"And so did we!" Kurt shot back. "We're alive to tell the tale, Chuck. That's more than I ask for on a normal day with all of this nonsense. Plus, we killed at least six of them and destroyed their little nests. Now we _know _what they're doing. We can find more or, at the very least, _avoid them_." He took a long drink of the wine before Chuck had the chance to make a comeback.

Sarah, thankfully, interjected. "He's right. We're alive, and we know some more of what they're planning."

"I don't think I'd call it a victory," Angela cut in with a murmur under her breath. It was enough to make Kurt pause and grind his teeth. Did she have to refute him on every angle? Did she do that on purpose?

"It's not a defeat either," Neil answered, turning to Chuck, "It wasn't the greatest, we know that, but we have more information now. That's something."

Chuck looked about ready to explode. "So we should throw a party?"

"No, dad," Neil groaned, "but we shouldn't beat ourselves up either."

"I'm not-!"

"We know," Kurt jumped in before it got ridiculous. "We know, Chuck. There's more questions than answers now than there ever was, but unlike these freaks of nature, we're human. We need to cherish the little things and rest."

"They're not resting."

"Oh, don't start."

"I agree!" Neil jumped up from the stool, swiping the keys from under his father's nose. "Dad, we're going home. You've been outvoted."

Kurt smiled into his glass, so thankful for the kid. "We'll start bright and early in the morrow, Chucky."

"Don't patronize me, Kurtrude," Chuck grumbled, but somehow internally agreed and followed his son to the door.

Sarah, with a big smile of relief, also rose from her stool and patted Kurt on the arm. "Goodnight," she muttered, with a silent thank you for battling off against their commander, and followed after the two.

Again, Kurt watched her from over his glass. Angela stayed in her seat well after the door closed, arms crossed and disapproving frown perpetually in place. All he could do was smile back and take another long drink. She, for once, was waiting for _him_, and he loved to make her wait.

He slowly swallowed, pulling his glass away to lick his lips, his grin never vanishing. "Yes, dear," he answered after a drawn out pause. "If it's a relaxing evening you desire, I think I can squeeze you into my schedule." It was part joke, part disdain. Mostly desperation, not that he'd admit it.

"There's more nests," she immediately told him.

"Yes," he agreed, "there are."

"A lot more."

"Yes, dear," he agreed again, "What's your point?" His smirk was beginning to wain.

"Too many of them got away, Kurt. They know what we did to the one we found. If they're not going to hunt us down, the least they'll do is make sure we can't destroy it the same way."

"Yes," he said once more, putting his glass down again. "And what do you want me to do about it? Raise my blood pressure?"

"This isn't a victory, Kurt! We can't-"

"No, it's not!" he interrupted, "But what the fuck are we supposed to do otherwise? Go out right now and hunt them all down? They're likely all over the planet, Angela! We can't assume there's just five or six more! There could be thousands, maybe millions! It's not a bloody victory, but, goddammit, I'm going to drink anyway!" He quickly finished off his wine, as if to prove his point, before grabbing the bottle.

He could see her shaking her head in disapproval from his peripheral and told himself that he didn't care, while refilling his glass. "Back to my earlier point," he continued with a lot less strain in his voice, "We're human. Whatever the fuck they're doing, we need time to step back. Since we're all going to die in a blaze of glory anyway, why not spend the rest of the night releasing the tension?" Kurt put his bottle to the side, looking up at her for a reaction.

All he got was a fowler grimace than the earlier one. "Are you coming on to me? Now, of all times?"

"I wasn't aware there was a better time," he admitted, taking another long drink to make himself shut up.

"Are you giving up?"

Was that the answer, then? Was that the only answer he was bound to get from her? Why expect anything different at this point?

The mischief left his eyes, as he lowered his glass again. "No," he said, "Unfortunately, I don't seem to be able to."

She looked him up and down, and he let himself wonder away at what she could be thinking. Eventually, she leaned back. "Good," Angela said, standing and suddenly looking tired. "I'll see you tomorrow," she muttered, making her way to the door.

By the time he got up the nerve to call after her, the door closed. Instead, he leaned against the counter with his drink, cradling his head. At least he could daydream.


End file.
